“The cockles give themselves away,” says Mitch Vance, who is showing us how to dig for clams. Among the clams that live in Netarts Bay—the smooth butter clams with ruffled bodies; the ringed and ridged littlenecks; the big gaper clams, which grow up to half a foot; and the pretty, scalloped-edged cockles—the cockles often lie closest to the surface. When they stick their necks out to breathe, they frequently leave a dimple in the sand. It reminds me of spy movies, of James Bond types holding their breath underwater, careful not to let a single bubble escape their lips, lest they betray themselves to the villains scanning the water’s surface.
I guess this makes me the villain.
Ben Jacobsen, the founder of Jacobsen Salt, began harvesting salt from Netarts Bay in 2011.
But today, the odds are in favor of the clams. All morning, the fog and clouds battle the sun, a white circle in the sky offering no warmth, until it finally surrenders to the rain. The rings left by raindrops make it hard to see the telltale burbles and burrows of the clams. After about an hour, I have only managed to gather a few cockles, and I am too soggy and cold to continue. However, Vance, who works for the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife, is accustomed to the moodiness of the coast and has taken off his shoes and shirt, cast aside the shovel and tube he brought for clamming, and begun digging with his bare hands. He digs and digs, flinging wet clumps of sand aside, until he unearths a gaper clam—bigger than his palm and with an almost obscenely long siphon. It is enough of a victory to call it a day, and even more so when later, after we let the clam sit in fresh saltwater so that it will purge itself of sand, we peel off its rubbery outer layer and slice it thin to eat. Raw, the meat is tender and crisp and chewy. In a stir-fry, it lends a taste of the sea.
Just a couple miles south, I get an even clearer taste of the sea at Jacobsen Salt Co. In 2011, its founder, Ben Jacobsen, tested saltwater at more than 30 spots along the Pacific Northwest coast, looking to source the best water just as a winemaker sources the best grapes. He discovered the highest salinity in samples from Netarts Bay, where a long strip of land shelters the bay and commercial oyster farming operations help clean the water, and set up shop. He filters the water and then boils it to remove calcium and magnesium. The resulting salt, pure-white and square, tastes of clean brine. (To see the salt in its pure form, all sharp angles, is to understand why salt in wounds hurts so much.) After the water evaporates, workers at Jacobsen Salt Co. scoop out the remaining crystals and dry them in pans for up to 36 hours. It’s astonishing to see some of the resulting flakes that are the size of postage stamps and made up of concentric squares that rise to form a squat pyramid. I’ve never marveled so long at salt.
In addition to pure finishing salts, Jacobsen also infuses some salts with flavors including black truffles from Oregon, pinot noir, and ghost chili pepper. In the shop, though, my taste buds, perhaps seeking balance in something sweet, gravitate to the honey. The Bee Local brand, which offers single-origin honey from around Oregon, joined Jacobsen Salt Co. in 2015. Its honey from Willamette Valley has a rare depth, with a citrus-like brightness and caramel undertone. Its cherrywood-smoked honey, thick and dark, is like the Scotch of honeys. After a cold day on the coast, I dream of this dissolved into a hot toddy as I warm myself by the fireplace.
There’s a startling contrast between Jacobsen Salt Co., with its modest wood structures and corrugated tin roofs hemmed in by the water’s edge and a dirt road, and the Tillamook cheese factory, which in 2018 opened a 38,500 square-foot visitor center, like a Disneyland of cheese. It replaced the old center, which already drew in 1.3 million visitors a year, making it one of the Pacific Northwest’s largest attractions, alongside Seattle’s Space Needle. I remember coming here when visiting a friend in college and reveling in the squeaky curds, which made the sound of balloons rubbing against each other when you chewed them. Tillamook still makes those curds, but if then I was impressed by something so small, this time I marveled at the cheesemaking process, or more specifically, the 40-pound blocks of cheddar running along the conveyor belt to be broken down into the smaller bricks sold in stores.
The cafe in the visitor center serves perfect, classic grilled cheese sandwiches and mac and cheese, as well as ice cream, which the company has been making since 1947. My favorite is the Oregon dark cherry, with its chunks of sweet fruit. Despite the shiny gleam of the new factory and modern menu items like kale salad, Tillamook, with its cheese and ice cream, conjures nostalgic memories, warming the cockles of my heart.
Clamming Tips
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The best clamming is in the spring and summer, when the daylight hours coincide with long stretches of low tides.
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A shellfish license (free for residents and $19 for non- residents for three days) is required to harvest. The personal daily catch limit is 20 bay clams per person, of which only 12 may be gaper clams.
For more information on clamming in Oregon and to get a license, visit myodfw.com.